Jim, who laughingly followed her words, interrupted in mock seriousness:
"One moment before you knock me down. Have you considered the existence of the American Peril? These Yankees are driving the English girls out of the home market. I believe in protection for the home product by an ad valorem tax on the raw material and exclusion for the finished product—in the shape of widows. I'm a patriot. God bless our English commerce—homes, I mean."
Jim's burst of nonsense was finished by a "Hear, hear" from Diana. Then their laughter rang out merrily. Diana clung to the swaying branch; Jim, below her, like Henry, noticed the ethereal quality of her beauty that night. She put out her hands to him.
"Please," she said, and he helped her down. Their light-heartedness seemed to desert them. Mechanically he kept her hand in his, held spellbound by her gracious charm. Diana withdrew her hand as she said, "Jim, you're a boy and you'll never grow up." Then, because she wished him to reassure her of his distaste for the proposed marriage, she said, "Sadie Jones is the chance of a lifetime and you'll miss it."
Jim only half heard her words. He was conscious of a strange dread of remaining longer alone with her.
"How do you know I will?" he said.
All her tender faith and belief in him was in her answer: "Oh, Jim, I know you."
Did she though? Did he know himself? What was this wild new feeling of fear, of sweet, elusive pain? His words gave no sign of the tumult of his thoughts.
"Do you? Well, you couldn't do me a greater service than to make me know myself. Fire at will."
Diana, too, was conscious of a strange undercurrent to their lighter talk. She was aware of Jim's searching glances, but, like him, she gave no sign of the vague uneasiness that would not be stilled.